


The Faith

by Ellegamgee



Category: Inn Between (Podcast)
Genre: (Never thought I'd have to tag for that), (What am I doing? I'm sorry.), Above specifically of a main character, But lots of pain and its effects, Character helplessly watching other character's pain, Gen, Hello everyone in The Goblin's Head, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, I blame y'all for planting this in my brain, I'm Sorry, Inspired by conversation on the server, Kidnapping, Main character in pain, Main character loss of . . . something important to them, Main character loss of control, Not bloody/gory, Really I promise it's both, Torture of main character, more than once, tagging as best I can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellegamgee/pseuds/Ellegamgee
Summary: Meltyre is kidnapped, and Sterling saves him.Then, in a way, Meltyre saves Sterling back.They certainly have an interesting story to tell the others, next time they visit.Inspired by a conversation in the Goblin's Head server.
Relationships: (Not / but could be pre- / if that's your thing), Meltyre & Sterling Whitetower
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	The Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags.  
> Like I said, the original idea was from a post by Peach in no-innkeep-allowed in the Goblin's Head server. The basic premise was that if Meltyre was held hostage and the only way to save him was renouncing his god, Sterling would do it, no question. Thanks to Peach for the idea and the permission to use it. Shout out to everyone in that thread, especially those who gave ideas. Some of them are here (hope it's okay I used them), though not all. (The crack ship is not here, although if you want to think it is, go for it). Also, shout out to numberw1tch in no-innkeep-allowed, who named the villain for me.  
> As usual when I play around in the Inn Between world, some things are vaguely D&D based, but some of it is probably not "accurate," in the sense with fitting any particular book or rule set. I just play around here. Although the magical item here is loosely based on an item in my own game and it's DM added side effects.

Previously, on Inn Between:

“What? What are you- How did you get in here? Wait, I remember you, you’re-”

“All in good time, wizard. Now, good night.”

“No, what- Guards, somebody! Oh-”

“Right then.”

“What’s this? A note?”

“Lord Sterling Whitetower, I have. . . Meltyre, your friend and Court Wizard to the Throne. . . .”

“Oh, gods. . . oh, gods, no.”

“If you wish to see him. . . alive. . . again, meet me at the location shown here. Tell no one. . . and come alone. If you do not, he dies.” 

“Cuthbert, help me.”

When Meltyre next came to consciousness, _pain_ was the first thing that he could feel, the first thought that crossed his mind, emanating through every bit of him. It was so much that it crowded out all other senses, all other thoughts, until his curiosity got the better of him, and he tried to think through what was going on. _What happened to me? Were we in a battle? What was it this time? Skeletons, goblins, kobalds? It feels much worse than that. What were we-_ Memories came flooding back suddenly, in a way that would have been overwhelming if the pain already hadn’t been. _I was ambushed near my quarters, knocked out somehow. He- He looked familiar, a bit, but I-_ And the rest, too. _I live in the Capitol, now. I only see the others occasionally, when they visit, since they're still adventuring, and I- I am Court Wizard to the Throne. I live there with Sterling, now Captain of the Guard. And Marie and Aveline, and- and my sisters. Oh gods, my sisters, are they-_

Though he knew his friends were not there, Meltyre could almost hear them, his addled brain most likely supplying what he needed to survive. 

_It is all right, Meltyre. You will be well. You have done so much, my son, and you are much more than you give yourself credit for._ Meltyre would have given almost anything for Velune’s healing, but almost more than that, to hear their comforting voice for real, to see their kind, mischievous eyes, reassuring him that his problems would not last. 

_Come on, magic man. Down for the count, without even a quip? You need to start living up to my standards._ Fina’s voice in his mind, teasing to mask worry, as it had so many times in reality, would have made Meltyre laugh if things were different. _You can do this, Meltyre._

_You’re stronger than you think, you know._ Echoes of what Betty would have said filled Meltyre, making him more aware of the truth, as she always had done. _You’re afraid, yeah. But face what you’re up against anyway._

Slowly, fighting back his fear and trying to focus on his curiosity, Meltyre analyzed what he knew. There was- something- a _wrongness_ to his body, twined within the pain, but his mind only became more fuzzy as he followed that thought, so he let it go. Instead, he tried to sense anything about his circumstances he could. Even before opening his eyes, Meltyre could tell a few things. He was sitting, his back against something hard and rough, a faint breeze on his skin. Probably outside, then, though no other indication where. The pain made it hard to tell, but he did not think that he was bound, and he could feel nothing close around him, no restrictions to his movement. That is, if he could move, as Meltyre realized that his pain had left him immobile. This last thought confused him, though even in this state, his mind fought to understand, and a potential answer had already begun to form, just needing more information to complete the picture. 

Steeling himself, Meltyre breathed as deep as he could, and opened his eyes. Even that took entirely too much effort, giving him another wave of fear to push aside. Within moments, Meltyre was able to fill in at least some of the gaps in what he knew, and confirm some of his guesses. He had been set against a large tree, leaned carefully, hands loose and useless at his sides, feet stretched out in front of him. If someone encountered him, they could easily think him simply resting. His clothes were exactly as they had been in his last memory, sadly without any of the resources that would have been with him during his adventuring days. _Not even my hat._ The thought bothered him more than it should have, for some reason. Without moving, all Meltyre could see in front of him was a large clearing, surrounded at its edges by trees like the one at his back. He didn't recognize anything, but with his mind fogged by pain, that didn't mean much. 

Needing to know more, Meltyre attempted to move, turning his head slightly and stretching out one of his hands. Something about this struck Meltyre with a dawning, horrible thought. It was one that had lingered under the pain, but Meltyre had not been able to put it into words until then. _My magic! I can't feel my magic!_ As far back as Meltyre could remember, magic had flowed within him, been a part of him, been _him,_ in a way that he could never describe to others, but was just always _there._ Until this moment, when he found it _gone_ and felt only its absence, a hole in his very self. This loss made his thoughts race in panic; yet a small part of him was grimly satisfied that he had at least found answers, a small relief in _knowing_ , at the least. _The first step. Now I can-_

Meltyre groaned. Until then, he had managed to stay fairly quiet, for the most part. Experience and training from his knowledgeable friends had made such things instinctual when there was danger or uncertainty. But these thoughts had been a breaking point, which turned out poorly for him. Meltyre discovered that he was not alone. 

"You're awake. Excellent." A voice, smooth and deep, came from behind Meltyre. Quietly, so he would not have been heard if he had not spoken, the man from before entered Meltyre's field of vision, to stand a few paces in front of him. He was tall, at least for a fellow human, which Meltyre was fairly sure he was. Certainly, the man _looked down_ on Meltyre; not just in the sense of height, but also in the haughty way his eyes glanced over the wizard, in a way that Meltyre was all too familiar with from nobility. He had the air and look, in his dress and mannerism, of someone who is accustomed to an easy life, but no longer has one. He had a sword at his side, sheathed, and a sturdy, elaborate staff in one hand. There was something about the staff that made Meltyre especially worried, though anything more concrete than a feeling of foreboding was just out of reach in his mind. 

Every moment the man looked at Meltyre, the stranger seemed more- gleeful, satisfied, as if watching him there on the ground was _entertaining_ to him. The same happiness crossed his face that Meltyre might get from Fina’s jokes or Velune’s pranks. It sickened Meltyre, made his skin crawl, made him desperate to escape, even more than he had been before. Frantically, Meltyre tried to push himself up with both hands, at the same time he tried to speak for the first time. “Who. . . who are you?” Meltyre’s voice was strained, rough, barely forced out. “What do you . . . .? Why are you. . . .?” He could not continue, could not even finish a second question, lapsing instead into a whimper. For a brief moment, he held himself upright, then fell back again. 

“Typical, I’m sure, that you don’t remember me.” The man sneered as he spoke. “Still, don’t overexert yourself now.” he said, almost sweetly, with a condescending smile. “I want you awake and ready for the _fun_ part.” Whatever this person called “fun,” Meltyre was sure he wanted no part of it. “And don’t worry, all questions will be answered shortly. Soon, even, if things go. . . .” There was a pause, as the man listened to something that Meltyre could not hear, from the woods toward which Meltyre faced. “That might just be him now. Perfect timing indeed, if so.” 

It did not take long for Meltyre to discover what the man meant. Soon, Meltyre heard his own name called out repeatedly, from a voice ladened with fear and worry, a voice Meltyre wished to never hear like that again, especially not to have caused it to be so. _Sterling._ In his frantic rush through the woods, there was no stealth, no subtlety: Meltyre knew that Sterling searched for him with little thought to his own safety, and it made his heart ache as much as his body to hear him. True, part of him was extremely glad to hear Sterling, but apprehension and dread clung to Meltyre as well, though he could not explain why. Unbidden, Meltyre remembered that the last time he felt such a contradictory mix of joy and sorrow, someone dear to him had _died_ . (The fact that she _came back_ did little to lessen the impact of that memory.) A surge of pain coincided with this thought, together causing him to gasp, just as Sterling passed from the trees and into the clearing. 

Sterling looked just a bit wild as he came into view, in a way Meltyre had not seen him for some time, maybe not ever. Sword and shield at the ready, Sterling no longer was the dignified Captain of the Guard, but an avenging paladin, a dear friend coming to save him. A small, detached, self-aware part of Meltyre’s mind was almost amused. _I didn’t hear him in my head, because I knew he would come for me, that the real Sterling would be here soon. Even subconsciously, I knew I could depend on him._ Meltyre wanted to speak to him, but all he managed was a wordless cry. This was enough to get Sterling’s attention, only needing one short moment to take in the situation, before running headlong toward the stranger. But he only made it a few feet before stopping abruptly, almost as if he had run into a wall. Sterling flinched, his mouth stuck in a grimace, like he was about to be sick. After a pause, he took a step back, then straightened and glared at the man, whose grin had only gotten wider. 

“I wouldn’t get any closer, if I were you, Lord Whitetower.” The man said to Sterling. “You have found one very good reason. Here is the other.” Quickly, he swung his staff and touched its upper end to Meltyre’s chest, pressing down on it. A wave of pain, the worst he had felt since awakening, rushed through Meltyre. It pulsed again and again from where the staff met his body, like a cruel second heartbeat. His senses went haywire, and he couldn't stop a scream. Vaguely, he felt his body twitch, then. . . he blacked out.

When the world righted itself again, the man had moved away from him once more, looking to Sterling, who stood like a statue, a horrified look stuck on his face. "If you get any closer, he gets my staff again. If you attempt to stop me, he gets my sword straight through him." It was like he was performing, for an audience of Sterling alone, and enjoying every moment. "I hope we understand each other now." The smugness in his voice reminded Meltyre vaguely of those in his order who mocked him, who tried to make him leave. But even they were. . . not like this.

"You have. . . made yourself clear." Sterling said, stiffly, holding back any emotion he might have, though his face betrayed him. "What do you want, Dath?"

"Well, at least you remember. This one," The man- Dath, apparently- gestured toward Meltyre. "had forgotten. Though, to be fair, he has other things to worry about right now." Sterling flinched, though he was ignored. "I'm glad you found me memorable, at least."

"Helden Dath, Denetrah's lackey." Sterling's anger got the better of him all at once, so much he almost strode forward, but caught himself in time. "How you made it out alive, I know not, but you. . . ." 

"Now, now, _lackey_ hardly is accurate. I was _close_ with your cousin, Lord Whitetower. In fact, I just might have been next in line for the throne, if I'd played my cards right. One way or another, you know." Sterling bristled at the implications of this, loyalty to his princess only held at bay by a glance at Meltyre. "But you, and him," Dath waved his staff toward Meltyre, thankfully not getting too close. "and your friends, just had to go and find Dame Aveline, and _ruin everything."_

"What. . . do. . . you. . . want?" Sterling repeated, slowly, carefully. 

"In truth, I wish to have back what was mine, until you and yours took it from me." Dath snapped. "But since that is not possible, I want you all to suffer, to lose everything, as I did." He paced closer to Sterling, though there was still a good amount of space between them. 

"I started with you two, easiest to find. And what does the wizard have most to lose? Why, his magic, of course." Dath laughed. 

_He went after me first. Not Marie or Aveline, not Sterling, not our friends. Good. And if he's telling the truth, he didn't go after my sisters, either. I suppose his selfishness is an advantage here, not seeing. . . ._ Meltyre remembered Robin's vision he had been trapped in, the _real_ worst loss he could endure.

"I'm sure you've figured out what I have in my possession, Lord Whitetower." Dath continued. He held the staff as if showing it off. “And it was _difficult_ to obtain, I will tell you that.” Finally, all the information clicked into place for Meltyre, as it probably had for Sterling as well. 

“Staff of. . . antimagic field.” Meltyre said, in a quick burst, followed by a groan from his effort. “Powerful. . . really powerful one.” Sterling paled, Meltyre having apparently confirmed his fears. He knew that he had told Sterling about this spell, something to be careful of, especially as a magic user himself. (Sterling had beamed at this back then, being a _magic user_ , even in the context of learning about things that could harm him.)

Dath looked back at Meltyre, his gloating smile never wavering. “Very good. I am not versed in the magical arts myself, in any capacity except in using such things. But I was told that not only does this make useless any magic within its range, other than itself. It also has very. . . interesting effects on those who _use_ magic. Funnily enough, I was told that the more someone uses magic, that is to say, the more that the magic is ingrained in them, the more of an effect this staff has on them. For instance, you, Lord Whitetower, are, or were, a paladin. Not sure on the details, but regardless. You do some magic, so naturally, coming any closer to me would make you feel. . . ill, at the very least. But your wizard friend, why, I have been told he is able to do a great deal of magic, a formidable spellcaster indeed. Even those from his order admit to that. So for him, the effect is a bit. . . different.” He moved closer to Meltyre once more, tipping his staff downward. Meltyre braced himself for a repeat demonstration.

“Stop! Don’t!” Sterling cried out. Dath paused, turning back toward Sterling. “Please, gods, enough. You have made your point.” 

“Have I?” Dath replied. “Then drop your weapons. I don’t want you getting any ideas that will just end poorly for everyone involved.” Meltyre wanted to say something, anything, to stop Sterling from doing so. Whether it was his body or his courage failing him, Meltyre wasn’t sure, but nothing happened but gasps when he tried to speak. Maddeningly, this seemed to push Sterling toward the opposite decision, as his sword and shield fell to the ground. 

“You have what you wanted.” With nothing in them now, Sterling's hands shook, though Meltyre could tell he was trying to hide this. “Let him go. Please.”

“No, I don’t think I’m quite done. I will, however, let him go. Eventually. For a price.” 

“What price is that? I will. . . . I can. . . .” Sterling’s voice faltered.

“Not gold, that isn’t what I’m after. I would, however, do an exchange.” Dath almost seemed to be baiting Sterling, but the paladin just waited, holding back whatever he wished to say. After a moment, Dath continued, though still not with a direct answer. 

“You know, Lord Whitetower, if things had been different, you could have been on our side. Certainly, you would have been an incredible asset under Denetrah’s rule, and would have benefitted well from it. But no, you had to be the type who cannot do what is _necessary._ You had to be. . . holier than thou. A paladin of St. Cuthbert." The title came with a mocking tone, which Meltyre wished he could protest against. This wasn't Fina's _paladon't_ , teasing from one of their own. This was _disrespectful, unacceptable_. 

"So that's what I want from you, Lord Whitetower. The last vestiges of your paladinhood, which you barely have anymore, anyway. Renounce your god, and the wizard goes free, no more harm to him. Refuse, and I find out how much more of this he can take." Dath brought his staff downward, close but not touching Meltyre, before swinging it back again, making all the more evident his intent.

_No, no, gods, no. He can't, he won't, he wouldn't._ Meltyre's thoughts tumbled through his mind like leaves in a storm. _Sterling_ is _a paladin, is a_ good _paladin, no matter what his order, what_ anyone _says. His god, his calling, is as much_ him _as magic is_ me. _Sterling could_ lose _that, but he can't._ _Can't, shouldn't,_ won't _. He knows better, he wouldn't do that, too much to lose. Sterling, no. No, no, can't, won't, please._

 _Especially not for me_ . 

When Meltyre looked to his friend, he expected Sterling to deny, to tell Dath no, in no uncertain terms. _Tell him off. Give Fina a run for her money._ But instead, Sterling was silent, contemplative, cautiously planning before speaking. _Why are you. . . .? What are you thinking?_

"If I. . . do this," Sterling began, every word an effort. "you will leave us. Let both of us go. Never use that. . . thing. . . on either of us again." 

"Yes, of course." Dath stated, pleased. "What's more, I will leave you alone _permanently_. You will never see me again, if you meet my demands. If you don't, you watch your wizard friend suffer. Again and again, until you change your mind, as long as he lasts. Those are my terms." 

_Why would you even consider. . . .?_ "Don't. . . listen. . . to De- Denetrah's. . . lackey.” Meltyre choked out, not caring for the consequences. For a split second, the ghost of a smile flitted across Sterling’s face, though it faded quickly. 

Meltyre desperately wanted to say more, and tried. He did not think his words got out, and only could hope Sterling knew, or heard, or understood his intent, for at least some of it. _Have some sense, Sterling. He still is a threat, he might even have allies! Find Aveline, protect Marie! Dath might go after our friends next! Velune, Fina, Betty, they might need help! And you. . . ._

_Don't be an idiot, Sterling. Save yourself. He's already gotten me, don't give him double the satisfaction._

"That was foolish, wizard." Dath's voice was ice in Meltyre's ears, at his side before Meltyre could notice the change. Meltyre scrambled once again to move, to push himself upright, perhaps even stand; but all to no avail. "You will regret that."

_Whatever else happens,_ no, I won't. _I know I won't._ He would not give in, not let Dath win, in any way he could. He had found his small bit of stubborn courage, learned and grown in no small part from Sterling himself.

Before he could react, Meltyre felt himself pushed roughly downward by both shoulders, limbs splayed outward, face in the grass. Hard pressure against his back turned into pain, turned into confusion, turned into his very senses fading in and out, unable to be trusted. 

Screams, raw and real. His own? 

". . . clock is ticking, you know. Might. . . different now. . . you think? I certainly wouldn't, if I. . . ." Even in his haze, he still heard Dath, sometimes in words, sometimes just a noise unable to be ignored. 

His own voice, in memory. _Except by dying._ Was that what this felt like, what this was?

_Lydda, Min, Seri._ Meltyre's mind clung to them. _They're safe now. Marie, Aveline, others, will protect them, care for them, love them. Even if, even if. . . ._

Sobs, Sterling's, weighed down by parting, by fear, by death. Was that a memory, or real?

_A lifetime ago, it felt like: His own broken ribs, soon mended. Sterling healed, differently, through no spell but truth and kindness._

_Betty, a frozen mockery, so vulnerable, so unlike herself._

_Velune, struck through with arrows, fragile, almost gone._

_Fina, broken and wrong, taken from them._

_Surviving through it all, together._

". . . . gods, please, not again." Sterling, barely heard, defeat saturated in every syllable. "I will do as you say, just stop, please." 

_Sterling, no!_

"Wise choice, Whitetower." The pressure lifted from Meltyre's back, and the pain lessened. Yet, Meltyre's ears rang, perhaps his own body rebelling against what he heard. "Still, I'm not an imbecile. Your end of the bargain first."

Without letting himself think, Meltyre made one more attempt and managed to push himself up slightly, leaning on his hands, head upright just enough to see what was in front of him. He was just able to meet Sterling’s eyes, who somehow gave Meltyre a strained smile, a vain attempt at encouragement even then. With that, Sterling closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke. 

Each word enraged Meltyre more, as all he could do was lay there, helpless. He almost couldn’t bear to listen, even as his ringing ears and addled mind made doing so difficult. Yet he tried, hoping to at least give Sterling a friendly witness. “I do hearby renounce. . . . No longer am I. . . of St. Cuthbert, no longer. . . a paladin. This I do. . . . So say I, Sterling Whitetower.” To his credit, Sterling’s voice still managed to stay strong, with little hesitation, even though Meltyre could not hear or understand all that was said. When he was done, finality evident in the way he spoke, Sterling suddenly gasped and fell forward onto the ground on his side. In tandem, Meltyre lost what little traction he had and found his face in the grass once more. Sounds overwhelmed him: loud cracking, magical noises he did not wish to interpret, his own whimper underlying it. Then, silence permeated everything at last. 

“Well, that was fun.” Dath broke the silence eventually, as his footsteps could be heard, slowly moving away from Meltyre. “I believe I shall take my leave of you now. The antimagic field should disappear not long after I leave, no more harm to you, wizard. After all, I _am_ a man of my word. Besides, I didn’t need you _dead-_ I managed to survive, so I figured I could return the favor. I just wanted you _like this._ Now that this has been accomplished, I am satisfied, for now. And so, I am gone. Fare you well.” The last either Meltyre or Sterling heard of Dath was a cackle in the distance, and then no more. 

True to his word, true to what Meltyre knew would happen, the effects of the staff went away, little by little, as time passed without it present. Meltyre found that he could hear, he could see, and that the pain was receding, until at last all that was left was a bone-deep ache, still better than he had felt since awakening. His magic, too, was coming back, at least somewhat. Meltyre did not feel that he could _do_ much magic, but that its presence was there, which was much improved in his book. If the magic within him was a well, the staff had destroyed the well itself and left no trace; in its wake, Meltyre felt as though the well was there once more and, though dry for now, would spring up again. _At least mine will come back._ Meltyre thought bitterly. 

Caught up in the aftermath within himself, Meltyre was almost too distracted to notice a flurry of movement, as he was lifted upright, then sat down once more. He stiffened, but this was not some new enemy. Though there was an urgency, there was also great care and skill to the hands that moved him, held him, checked him over. “Meltyre, Meltyre, are you all right? Are you still in pain, do you still feel its effects? You seem improved, you seem. . . . Oh, gods, I was so. . . .” Sterling paused a moment, hands on Meltyre’s shoulders, trembling like he had finally let himself go after holding together for so long. Tears streaked his cheeks, this version of Sterling looking starkly contrasted to the haughty noble Meltyre had first met. (Meltyre did not want to think about what he looked like at the moment, knowing it would be much worse.) 

Such a quick change, his body catching up to the fact that he was safe once more, had left Meltyre still a bit slow to speak, though he tried. “I knew you’d save me.” He muttered without thinking, the first thing that escaped him. “I knew it. Not a divine caster, but I do have faith. Faith in you.” The words fell out, and for once, Meltyre didn’t care that it sounded strange.

“I suppose I did. And I’m very glad I could.” Sterling pulled Meltyre close, gently still, before letting him go and looking at him once more. “But, Meltyre. . . .” The wizard realized he had never given Sterling an answer aloud to his questions.

“I’m fine.” Sterling’s brow furrowed, and Meltyre amended the hasty reply. “Okay, okay, not _fine._ But a lot better. I’m. . . . I will be fine. It’s already. . . coming back.” The relief that bloomed on Sterling’s face only amplified the guilt that Meltyre felt. “But, but you. . . . You shouldn’t have done that, Sterling!” 

“What do you mean? What. . . .?”

“You. . . you. . . . Why would you do something like that? And. . . and for me? Now he’s gone, and he might be going after the others, or Aveline, or. . . .” The whine and crack of his voice only worsened, as he couldn’t stop himself from continuing, spilling his feelings. “And you. . . you gave up, you lost. . . _so much,_ lost _everything_ ! _I know_ how important your god, how much _being a paladin_ is to you! Especially after all you’ve been through, all that has already been against you! I can’t. . . and _I_ was the reason you lost it! I. . . I. . . .” 

“Enough, please, Meltyre.” Sterling said, sad but calm. His words, so similar to before yet in such a different tone, got Meltyre’s attention, made him stop and listen. “I do wish things were different. I wish that I was able to rouse myself soon enough to catch up to Dath. Unfortunately, he is long gone now, though we will do what we can, as soon as we’re able. I wish that I was able to help more, to bring him to justice. But I don’t regret what I did. And I would do it again, no questions.” He paused, only to assure himself that Meltyre was looking straight at him. “Do not blame yourself, Meltyre. I don’t blame you, and I don’t want you to, either.”

“But _why_?” Meltyre couldn’t help asking. “Why would you. . . .?”

“I couldn’t bear to see you like that.” Sterling stated, matter of fact, or at least attempting to be, but with a bit of worry seeping in, as he remembered. “I was so. . . frightened. It. . . . I couldn’t help thinking, it was too much, I was afraid it would be. . . .”

“Flashbacks to the Bone King?” Meltyre at first was not serious, but found that he had been entirely too correct, from the way his friend’s face had darkened. “Oh, Sterling.”

“I couldn’t. . . bear it.” Simple, but true. “If there was any way to prevent that. . . again, I would do anything within my power, no matter the cost.”

“But still, you _shouldn’t_ have, I didn’t _want_ you to.” Too late, Meltyre realized how this sounded. “No, I mean, I don’t want to sound. . . ungrateful, after all that. I am. Grateful. Really, I am, but. . . . I didn’t want this, this isn’t _fair_. I’m so. . . I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Meltyre.” Sterling’s attempt at bravery, at making this sound all right, fooled no one. “Whether I should have or not, _I did._ And as we have both learned well, _fair_ is not always how life works.” He sighed. “It is as it is, and it’s all we can do to deal with it. Fair or not, I would not take it back.” 

Sterling's eyes wandered behind them, to his discarded shield, which Meltyre was dismayed to find had been broken in two, the source of the previous noise. Flinching away from this, Sterling instead slowly looked Meltyre over, instinctually, as if reassuring himself that the worst was done with, and that Meltyre was really there. Something seemed to cross Sterling’s mind at this, and looking at his own hands, he gave a dry laugh. “Though apparently, our magic lessons are done. I do wish they weren’t for naught.”

_That’s it._ Meltyre suddenly thought. _That’s it, I can’t. . . . He couldn’t stand. . . . Well, I can’t stand doing nothing while he loses. . . everything. I need to . . . I need to try, something, anything._ His racing thoughts slowed as an idea came to him. _Wait, maybe. I. . . . It’s a long shot, for sure. But still, I have to try, I have to do_ something. 

Carefully, Meltyre rose, untangling himself from Sterling, who looked at him questioningly as he did so. “I. . . . I need to do something. It. . . probably won’t work.” Meltyre admitted, hesitating to even begin. “And if it doesn’t, I’m. . . sorry. Again.” Whatever Sterling was about to say, questioning, Meltyre interrupted him. “Don’t, please, just. . . . I. . . I need to try. So just, don’t say anything, don’t interrupt me for, uh. . . a few minutes. Okay?” Sterling nodded, confused but trusting. Meltyre was hit with a wave of guilt, once again, but pushed it aside. 

When he had stepped a few paces away from Sterling, Meltyre knelt on the ground, back turned from him. He rested his hands on his knees, trying in vain to stop himself from fidgeting nervously, and closed his eyes tight. _How do I even do this?_ He wondered, but found his answer in his memory, Sterling’s own past words inspiring his friend. _Start like he did, and then. . . say what I'm thinking, I guess._ With a shaking breath, Meltyre began. 

“Sa- Sa- Saint Cuthbert.” The stutter and waver in his voice couldn’t be helped, but Meltyre hoped it didn’t reflect poorly on his chances. “Lord of. . . zeal and sense.” Meltyre stuck to what he remembered, but knew that wouldn’t last him much longer. _Off script, then. Here we go._ “Justice, and. . . and wisdom. This- this- this is none of that.” Another breath, to keep going. “Sterling. . . Sterling doesn’t deserve this. He. . . He is a _good paladin._ He has helped, has _saved_ , so many people, all in your name. And. . . despite everyone who told him he wasn’t, a life that wasn’t _fair._ Sterling has. . . .”

“From when I first got to know him, Sterling has always protected us. We. . . when it came down to it, he _trusted_ us, and I. . . that meant a lot to me. And he- he told the truth, even when it was _so hard_ , when he had _everything_ to gain by not doing that. Like Velune said, that’s probably why. . . why you showed him your favor. I can’t pretend to understand, but it- it makes sense.”

“And since then, Sterling has. . . learned to see things differently. We didn't. . . see eye to eye before, but now. . . we do, I think. I've watched him grow, become. . . Sterling has. . . . He is _wise,_ he has helped me, and helped our friends, to be _better_ , just like he says we’ve helped him. He is. . . .”

“Sterling once told me I gave him courage. He has given me. . . _so much_ , and today, he gave up what was most important to him, all for. . . me. I. . . I can’t. . . . I. . . . I mean, new title and all, I know I’m just a nobody to a god. I’m not, I'm not even your follower or anything, so I don’t know if you’re even. . . listening. But, I. . . . this isn’t _right._ If you are, if you are really, the god of. . . justice and all that, you already know that. So, please, take him back. Please.” 

_I meant it all. I. . . That probably didn’t do anything, except embarrass me and rub salt in the wound. But I did mean it, I hope he knows that._ Already lingering in memory, Meltyre recalled another time he had spoken how he felt, though only to his friends. He could almost imagine getting the same reaction this time, their voices clear in his head even then. (Though hopefully, with less discussion of sheep.) 

Meltyre wasn’t sure what he expected when he turned back toward Sterling, but it certainly wasn't what he saw. He hadn't moved from where he sat, but now was leaning back and resting on his palms, looking upward in rapt attention toward about a person’s head height, like he was listening to someone who wasn't there. _Or who_ I can't see, _maybe._ Meltyre crept his direction, not daring to be too loud or too close. The expression on Sterling’s face could only be described as _awe_ , more so than any Meltyre had ever seen in him, even when meeting the Queen of the Fey herself. Though Sterling made no sound, his mouth moved in a silent conversation, and he had a genuine, joyous grin. 

After some time, Meltyre couldn’t quite be sure how long, Sterling lowered his head and sighed, whatever unseen spell had occurred apparently broken. He tried to stand, but swayed. Meltyre rushed to his side, letting Sterling lean on him. Sterling seemed disoriented, so Meltyre led him to a nearby rock to sit on, steadying him as they went. “Nice catch, Meltyre. Your turn this time.” Sterling said, sounding. . . . Not quite drunk, Meltyre had heard what that sounded like. But similar, and positively _delighted_. This sudden happiness confused Meltyre, and though he didn’t want to spoil it, his curiosity got the better of him.

“Sterling, what happened?”

“You did, Meltyre!” He pulled the wizard into a tight embrace, for all the world like he was attempting to rival Betty in intensity. When Meltyre made a noise protesting his lack of ability to breathe, Sterling relaxed, just enough, though one of his arms still rested around Meltyre’s shoulders. "Poetic, I suppose Fina would say. I saved you, and you saved me back."

"What are you talking about?" A theory formed in Meltyre’s mind, so surprising that he could scarcely believe it, but it was the closest any idea came to _making sense._ “You. . . . you don’t mean. . . .?”

“Oh, my friend, but I do!” Carefully, Sterling unwrapped his arm from Meltyre, moving away from him just slightly, and held his hands out flat in front of him, reminding Meltyre of one of his sisters eagerly showing off something she found. Then, _light_ glowed in an orb that filled the space between his hands. In the back of his mind, Meltyre recognized the _daylight_ spell, and remembered how they had worked to adapt it for Sterling. He even felt a little pride in his friend's creation, in how well the spell had been done. But something more pressing took over.

"Wait, you mean. . . it worked? You, you. . . you are. . . ."

"A paladin of St. Cuthbert." _This_ was how Meltyre missed hearing it: not mocking, as Dath did- not full of himself, as Sterling _was_ \- but as the Sterling of _now_ , who knew who he was and quietly did what was right, glad for the opportunity. "And all thanks to you, Meltyre."

"But that means. . . ." 

" _Yes_ . Yes, all of it." Sterling laughed aloud, letting the orb disappear. " _Yes_ , he listened to you. _Yes,_ he heard all that you said and saw that you were right. In fact, I was told that justice _must_ be done, and in this case, that meant that my renunciation was rejected and rescinded. He said, in no uncertain terms, that I am still _meant_ to be a paladin. And who am I to argue? So, _yes_ , I am fully a paladin of my god once more.”

Meltyre listened carefully, having a hard time processing what exactly had happened. “Let me get this straight. You. . . keep saying “he.” By that, you mean. . . St. Cuthbert.” Sterling nodded. “You were directly spoken to by your god. You. . . had a _conversation_ with your god. Which resulted in the returning of his favor to you.” Another nod, accompanied by yet another laugh, though Meltyre could never begrudge it. “Velune is either going to be very proud of you, or flip out. Maybe both.”

“And you!” In his overexcitement, Sterling almost made Meltyre jump. “I was told that he was impressed by you as well, Meltyre. Said he usually doesn’t listen to those who aren’t of his followers, but he was glad he made an exception. He plans to continue to do so for you, you know. And he said that he would consider you honorarily among his own, if you would like.” 

“Oh! I, uh. . . .” This was definitely not up his alley, but why not, at this point? Before he could become too self-conscious, Meltyre squeezed his eyes shut once more. “Thank you. I. . . uh. . . . Sure, I accept. It would be an honor.” When he looked back at Sterling, Meltyre saw his friend’s eyes sparkling, amused, perhaps at Meltyre’s method of prayer, and shook his head. “I. . . I can hardly believe it. I mean, I do, but. . . .”

“Here, let me help with that.” Sterling stood, finally a bit more steady. For a moment, he walked away, and when he returned to sit by Meltyre again, he had retrieved his sword. . . and his shield, in one piece once more, no evidence that it had ever been different. “More proof for you.”

With great care, Meltyre ran his fingers over the shield, passing over where he _knew_ he had seen it cracked before, then tracing the emblem of St. Cuthbert- and the red mark that still lingered over it. “It’s _exactly_ the same, isn’t it?”

This time, Sterling’s laugh did not bubble over with joy, as it had. It was quiet, contemplative, but happy in its own way. “I was offered to have it truly fixed. To even be given some sign that the mark on it had been false in the first place. But I turned the offer down. After all, most of my growth in becoming a paladin, the way I truly should have been all along, came _after_ my shield was marked. It came from- from you, and our Gang. Strangely, I didn’t _want_ to be rid of that, now, because it reminds me of how far I have come, and of who I strive to continue to be.”

Meltyre was very close to joking with him about being a sap, but his mind latched onto something Sterling had said. “The others! We need to figure out where they are, before Dath does, and warn them! Or, or tell .. . .” Sterling shook his head.

“That was the other. . . favor I was given. I have been reassured that the others will be perfectly fine.” When Meltyre did not seem satisfied, Sterling continued. “Firstly, I was told that Dath is working under some. . . false assumptions, which would have led him astray and delayed him anyway. And to make sure that justice is done, and that we and our friends are safe, St. Cuthbert deigned a little. . .divine intervention. Nothing too drastic. But let’s just say someone has been informed who will take care of him for us, and be happy to do so. Someone who, though not a follower of St. Cuthbert, greatly enjoys seeing the kingdom protected and justice done.”

“Oh! Okay, then.” Meltyre matched Sterling’s grin. “Almost wish I could see that. We’ll hear about it later. And we’ll definitely have our own story to tell.” Meltyre leaned his head on Sterling’s shoulder. Later, he would ask for healing, and Sterling would do so, chagrined to have forgotten in his overzealous excitement. Later, they would make their way back to the city, and catch up on what had developed while they were away. But for that moment, Meltyre just wanted to rest beside his friend, and judging by how Sterling settled in with him, they seemed to be in agreement on this matter. 

“Sterling?” The paladin made a sound of acknowledgement. “Thank you. I don’t remember if I said it enough before. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Meltyre.” Sincerity gave way to teasing seriousness, a parody of his former self. “You know, I did vow to protect you, and as a paladin of St. Cuthbert, I always uphold my vows.” 

“And this wizard is very glad you do.” 

Next Time, on Inn Between:

"So, what have you two been up to while we've been on the road? Any good stories?"

"I mean, I was kidnapped and held hostage? And Sterling saved me? And then talked with his god? So that was, uh, exciting?"

"Sterling did _what now_?"

"Meltyre, have _some_ tact!"

"You okay, Friar?"

"Great, Meltyre, you're going to give Velune a heart attack at this rate."

"I think I need a drink."

"Stories and drinks all around, then!"

"I'm looking for a certain adventuring party, innkeep. Have you seen. . . .?" 

"You're a bit off the mark, young man. I know who you're looking for, and you won't find them here."

"You will, however, find me."

"Dame Aveline! But how. . . .?"

"A little birdie told me where to find you. And that you've been causing trouble for my Captain and my Court Wizard. Who are also like family to my niece, and I'd even call them _my_ friends on a good day. So, don't think you're getting far."

"Why did you let him. . . .?"

"Oh, the inn is surrounded by my men. They have bets going as to who will catch him, so I figured I'd let them work for their money. Thank you for your help, by the way, Tessa."

"You're welcome, dear. Good to see you, too, Aveline."


End file.
